


Congrats, Mike Lawson, You Played Yourself

by Nostalgia_101



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8595451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nostalgia_101/pseuds/Nostalgia_101
Summary: Mike had way more than just Katy Perry, grape soda and cilantro stored in his 'things I know about Ginny Baker' arsenal. Five other things Mike has learned about Ginny Baker, and one thing Ginny learned about him.





	

**One.**

“Hey, Rookie, over here!”

Ginny pivoted her head at the sound of Mike’s voice, a slice of pizza halfway to her mouth. Her nose crinkled in bemusement when she saw him lounging on Blip’s patio furniture with a beer in one hand and a baseball signal occupying the other. “You forget to take your meds again, Old Man?” she smirked, eyeing off the fastball sign he was gesturing to her. “We’re at dinner not a game.”

“This is for your own good, Baker,” said Mike, nodding towards her food. “You pitch that slice of pineapple hell over here and I’ll toss it in the trash where it belongs.”

“Oh god you’re one of _those_ people aren’t you?” Ginny replied with a put upon sigh, hiding a smile as she sauntered over and plonked down on the chair next to him.

“If you mean a sane person that doesn’t sully their pizza with garbage then yeah, guilty as charged.” He waggled his eyebrows at her before swigging his beer.

Lifting her slice from the paper plate on her lap, Ginny made a big show of devouring half of it in one go, not caring about the sauce smearing the sides of her face. “Mmm sohgoob,” she garbled around the huge mouthful.

“Wow, that’s hot,” Mike deadpanned.

Ginny waved the slice near his face. “Want some?” she teased, breaking into laughter when he nearly tipped his chair backwards trying to scoot away. “Watch it, you’ll put your hip out next, Gramps.”

“I can’t believe you wasted cheat day on _that_ ,” Mike said, shaking his head as she took another bite. “The same woman who once lectured me on why cilantro is equivalent to Satan taking a dump in a herb garden is a pineapple pizza freak.”

“You are so _extra_!” Ginny smirked, swiping the beer bottle from his hand to steal a few gulps. “What the hell did pineapple ever do to you?”

“Left me at the altar for my twin brother Ike so they could elope to Vegas,” Mike retorted, plucking the bottle from her grasp with a mock-stern glare. “It’s a sordid tale, Rookie.”

“Ooh, I’ll bet.” Ginny leaned in close. “Can I ask one question though?”

“Shoot.”

“… Do you like piña coladas?”

“Too soon, Baker. Too soon.”

“What about getting caught in the rain?”

**Two.**

The first couple of times Ginny took the TV remote from him when they were watching games in the clubhouse Mike just assumed she liked to curb his enthusiasm for channel hopping. It didn’t take long, however, for him to realise that she’d automatically adjust the volume each time to an even number and that’s when his fun really began.

Whenever she’d get up for a bathroom break or to grab a drink from the vending machine, Mike would make it his mission to amp up the volume, throwing Ginny an innocent gaze when she’d glare at him on her return. He hid the remote a few times too just to really piss her off, making her go through a game of hot or cold until she finally discovered it somewhere disgusting like Shrek’s dirty laundry pile. He got a face full of sweaty, grass-stained clothing for his efforts courtesy of Ginny’s pitching arm, but it was completely worth it.

They had a replay of a match on in the gym during one of their workouts when Mike decided to bump the volume up to fifteen. He kept up his jogging on the treadmill with a wry grin, waiting for the familiar outcry and occasional whack to the arm he was accustomed to but Ginny remained unfazed next to him on her machine.

“What’s the matter, Rookie?” Mike drawled, angling his head to look at her. “The world not implode like you thought it would?”

“Huh?” Ginny spared him a quick frown before returning her attention to the game.

“The volume,” said Mike, eyeing off the faster speed on Ginny’s treadmill and upping his machine to match. “It’s on an odd number, doesn’t that make your brain short-circuit or something?”

“Nope, not when it’s an increment of five,” she replied with an easy grin.

Mike scoffed, wiping at the sweat beading across his forehead with the back of his hand. “So you’re telling me you’re about ready to call 911 if I leave it on twenty-three, but knock it up to twenty-five and you’re A-OK?”

“Exactly.”

“You’re insane,” he puffed.

“And you’re ancient,” she shot back with a smirk, her breathing remaining steady as she set her machine even faster. “Looks like we all have our issues.”

**Three.**

Ginny appeared flustered when she opened her change room door, fixing Mike with a polite grimace as she blocked his view of the room. “What do you want, Lawson?”

“You have impeccable manners, Baker, anyone ever tell you that?” he grinned, the usual flash of peppermint gum appearing between his teeth.

“That’s cute coming from the guy who wouldn’t look out of place chewing cud with a herd of cattle,” she replied, bracing her arm as casually as she could manage on the doorframe. “Now what can I do for you?”

“Well I was gonna see if you wanted to get some practice in down at the nets, but now I’m just curious to see what you’re hiding from me,” said Mike, craning his neck to try and peer into the room over Ginny’s head.

“What?” Ginny scoffed, furtively standing on her tiptoes to try and block his view. “I’m not hiding anything I just don’t want you to see the mess, OK. I’ve got crap everywhere.”

Mike narrowed his eyes at her, chewing thoughtfully on his gum. “No, that’s not it. You keep your crap pretty organized.”

“Why do you know so much about my crap?” she countered, tilting up her chin.

“Can we just stop saying crap, it’s losing all its meaning,” he huffed, scratching the side of his beard. “The point is you’re acting weird. Come on, what have you got in there that’s so bad, huh?” Mike’s eyes lit up with a mixture of amusement and wariness. “Or maybe it’s _who_ have you got in there?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Damn, you sprung me, Detective Lawson.” She threw her head back to yell into the room. “Drake, babe, we’ve been caught. Get your clothes back on, I’ll have to take a raincheck.” Ginny returned her gaze to Mike and fixed him with a pointed glare. “Happy?”

“Nope,” Mike retorted with a shit-eating grin, folding his arms. “Come on, Rookie, don’t make me go all Seven on you.”

“What?”

“Y’know, _what’s in the room_?” he replied in his best Brad Pitt voice, shaking his fists towards the ceiling. “ _What’s in the rooooooom_?”

Ginny stood there weathering Mike’s over-the-top hollering for a few more moments before letting out a frustrated growl. “For the love of… nevermind the room my foot is gonna be in your ass in a second.” She swung open the door and stepped back, gesturing at a small television set up in a corner. “There! Are you happy?”

Stopping mid-Pitt, Mike clamped his mouth shut to focus on the program playing. His lips peeled into a delighted grin. “Ginny Baker, are you legitimately watching _The Bold and the Beautiful_ right now?”

“So what if I am?” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “It helps switch my mind off things for a while.”

Mike snorted, holding his hands up in placation. “Hey, no judgement here.” He grinned when Ginny raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. “Alright a little judgement, but only because I’m more of a _Days_ man myself.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Ginny muttered, but there was a hint of a smile tipping up the corners of her mouth.

“Seriously. My, uh, my mom used to watch it when I was a kid,” Mike said, his smile fading as he cast his mind back. “She’d tape it sometimes and I’d watch it with her because she’d always make microwave popcorn.”

“That sounds nice,” Ginny said quietly, noting the tic in his jaw.

“Maybe one of the only good memories I have with her,” he said ruefully, before clearing his throat and plastering on a smile. “See you know I’m not full of shit, Rook, because I just damn well had my own soap moment right there,” he chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

Ginny smiled at him, picking up the remote to switch off the TV. “I think I’ll take you up on that practice if that’s OK,” she said, giving his arm a gentle squeeze as she passed by him into the hall.

**Four.**

“I’m gonna punch his face so hard his head’ll snap back and he can kiss his _own_ ass.”

Ginny paced around the dugout angrily guzzling her paper cup of water while Mike nodded along with her. “And I’ll be right there Instagramming every moment for posterity.” He snorted to himself. “Or posterior-arity, because of the whole ass thing and… that stony glare is letting me know now is not the time for puns, got it.”

“The nerve of the guy though!” Ginny exclaimed, crushing the cup in her hand. “Who even let that reporter on the field right before a game’s about to start, huh?” she said, shaking out the tension in her arms. “No other player would stop and talk to him either, but just because _I_ rebuffed him I get a ‘kiss my ass’ in response.”

“The guy’s a hack,” Mike said, “don’t even give him another thought.”

Ginny clenched her jaw, breathing out heavily through her nose. “Pretty hard to do when all my thoughts are about my fist making friends with his face.”

“Baker, come on,” said Mike, watching the fury practically radiate off her. “We need your head in the game… _Baker_.” He strode over to her and clasped her hands in his own, waiting for her to look at him. “He’s. Not. Worth. It,” he reiterated. 

Taking a few breaths in tandem with Mike’s, Ginny let a bit of tension drain from her shoulders. “I know,” she sighed deeply. “But that doesn’t make him any less of a fuck boy.”

Mike clamped down a smirk. “Agreed. But let’s save your hands for more pitching and less punching.” He glanced down to where their hands were joined and lifted them up to his eye level. “What’s up with the knuckle on your pinky?” he said, running his thumb over the slightly wonky bone.

“Got bent out of shape when my brother and I were younger messing around in the backyard,” Ginny replied with a wry smile, giving it a wiggle. “My dad nearly lost his mind when he found out, it being my ‘lucky’ pitching hand and all.” Her forehead wrinkled with the memory. “Will got in so much trouble but it was both our faults. Story of our childhood really,” she said with a humorless laugh. Ginny looked up at Mike to find him watching her intently.

“Well, there you go,” Mike said brightly, letting her hands, and the moment, slip away. “All the more reason to keep it clear of – what did you call ‘em?”

“Fuck boys?” Ginny replied with a smirk.

“Yeah, that one,” Mike snickered, giving her shoulder a light shove. “Come on, Rookie, we’ve got a game to win. And maybe later a reporter’s ass to kick.”

“Though that was a no-no?”

“Yeah to damaging your hands, no one said anything about your feet,” he winked. “Keep up, Baker.”

**Five.**

Mike propped his elbow up on the side of the sofa as he found a more comfortable position to hold his phone in front of him. “Come on, you’ve gotta be messing with me?” he said, watching Ginny via FaceTime as she threw her head back in a throaty chuckle.

“I’m deadly serious,” Ginny replied, sitting cross-legged on the bed in her hotel room. “I’ve never seen Jurassic Park.”

“But it’s a cinematic classic!” he exclaimed. “Dinosaurs, Baker!”

“I know what it’s about, Lawson!” she laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I have a joke lined up and everything about you fitting right in with the dinosaurs because you’re so damn old, but that’d be way too easy.”

“You’re hilarious,” Mike said dryly, shoving a handful of tortilla chips into his mouth from the bag on his lap. “I’d be laughing even more if the state of your film education weren’t so depressing.”

Ginny flopped back onto the bed, holding the phone above her. “Don’t be so dramatic, I’ve seen stuff.”

“Yeah like what?” he challenged. “Star Wars?”

“No.”

“Pulp Fiction?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“E.T.?”

“Entertainment Tonight made a movie?” she asked, bursting into laughter at his scandalized look. “Oh my god calm down, I’m kidding. But also no.”

Mike buried his face in his hand, groaning at her. “You’re killin’ me, Smalls,” he murmured, taking his hand away to look at her grinning at him. “That’s a quote from _The Sandlot_ by the way, a movie about _baseball_.”

“What can I say,” Ginny replied, shrugging one shoulder. “I lived and breathed actual baseball twenty-four-seven, didn’t leave much time for fun.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I wasn’t a baseball maniac as a kid and yet I’ve still seen a lot of good shit in my time.”

Ginny lowered her arm and rested her phone up against a stack of pillows, turning over to prop her head on her hand to face the screen. “My dad was pretty strict if it wasn’t sport-related,” she said quietly, chewing at her bottom lip. “I missed out on a lot of stuff.”

They sat there for a beat, sharing in the silence of waylaid youth, before Mike gave her a decisive nod. “Well that’s decided that then. Movie night at my place next week, Captain’s orders.”

Ginny’s cheeks dimpled as she smiled. “You’re on. I’ll bet you have one of those fancy-ass theater rooms don’t you,” she teased.

“Of course I do,” he scoffed. “What am I, some kind of wild animal?”

“No, you’re a dinosaur remember?” she quipped. “Keep up, Old Man.”

**And then…**

Mike arrived early in the clubhouse the morning after their almost rained-out game to find Ginny already there, sitting in his chair in front of his locker. She had a pained expression on her face as he cautiously approached her.

“Chicago?” she said in a strained voice, standing up in front of him and folding her arms. “What the hell, Mike?”

Swallowing roughly, Mike dropped his gym bag to the ground at his feet wishing one of his stirring speeches would come to mind, but all he could concentrate on was the look of anger and hurt on the face of his Rookie.


End file.
